


Bad Days And Torn Clothes

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Bad Days, Death of children mentioned (Hale Fire), Fluff, Full Shift Werewolves, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Stiles and Peter adopt twin werewolf cubs, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27109279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Peter and Stiles live outside Beacon Hills with their adopted twin werewolf cubs. Life is good and they have come a long way in their recovery, but bad days still do happen occasionally. They battle them together.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949101
Comments: 8
Kudos: 160
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Bad Days And Torn Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober Day 19: Survivor's Guilt.

Stiles knows it is one of those days when he wakes up and sluggishly reaches for Peter only to feel crumpled sheets, still wearing a faint echo of warmth. He frowns and rolls on his back, blinking into the sunlight.  
  
Stiles can count the occasions Peter got up before him on the fingers of his hand. 

Peter and mornings don’t get along. It is no wonder he got a job that doesn’t require getting up early. Peter can read and insult his manuscripts at every time of the day or night.  
  
“Daddy?” a timid voice comes from the door. It is one of the twins. Tommy is chewing on two of his fingers which gives Stiles the hint that his gums are itching again, from both human and wolf teeth. 

Stiles smiles at the kid and pats the bed beside him. “Come here, pup.”

Tommy toddles into the room and climbs on the bed, snuggling up against Stiles with a happy rumble. He presses his nose into the crook of Stiles’ neck and Stiles doesn’t even flinch when he feels the pin-prick of teeth, he merely tells Tommy to mind the fangs. "I don’t heal in the matter of seconds,” he mutters. 

A memory comes up and Stiles grins at it. He remembers the twins staring at his hand in wonder for hours, when Stiles managed to cut himself while cooking, because the wound there didn’t immediately close. Well. They are born werewolves and are used to never having a wound, to never being sick. 

Stiles in return had to get used to being around two children who growl and hiss, who are half-nocturnal and change into fluffy lanky wolf cubs occasionally, leaving heaps of torn clothes behind. Well, Stiles is on it. He is trying to teach the twins to undress and fold their clothes before they shift. It is a struggle. Peter is not much help, because he melts instantly when the twins throw puppy eyes at him.

Stiles thoughtfully runs his fingers through Tommy’s curly hair and suddenly realises it has been almost a year since they have taken the pups in. 

A year since his Dad has called, telling him about two kids - twins - who were found in the forest, naked and shivering, no trail of their family. He told Stiles quietly about glowing eyes and the way the kids snuggled against him when he scooped them up, trying to reach his neck to rub against it … The signs were clear as day. And Stiles could only imagine too well, what happened to the twins' family. 

Stiles wasn’t sure at first. He was almost about to tell his Dad to call Deaton. Surely, the vet and emissary would know someone who could take care of two little werewolves. But then, his Dad sent him a picture of them and Stiles remembered his many talks with Peter, about adopting a kid or two. He couldn’t resist. 

In the end, it was Peter, who said no at first. Resolutely. 

“We talked about it,” Stiles reminded him, feeling surprised. Even a bit hurt. 

“Talking about it is different from actually doing it,” Peter grumbled, crossing his arms. It was a defensive posture. 

“You … seemed pretty on board with it,” Stiles said, frowning. He showed Peter the picture on his phone. It was a bit of a dirty move, but well. 

Peter’s eyes softened when he looked at the twins. He sighed. “Stiles … I don’t know. I’m not exactly a role model. I already ruined enough. I don’t want to ruin kids.” 

“You said you took care of the children in your family all the time. Said you loved being around them,” Stiles said gingerly. Peter’s family was still a dangerous topic. It could either result in deadly silence or fleeing. 

Peter’s jaw tensed. But at least, he didn’t turn around and noped out of the room. 

“They are werewolves,” Stiles continues, feeling braver. “They need someone who knows how to deal with werewolf children. Do you remember when Jackson and Ethan brought their daughter? You were amazing with her. She adored you. I am sure you will be amazing with these two too. They will know you how you are now. You won’t ruin them.” 

Peter peeked at the picture of the twins again and sighed. It sounded defeated. “Fine. But I fear you don’t really know what you are getting yourself into. Werewolf pups are … clingy,” Peter said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Stiles was relieved to see it. 

“I will get used to it, I guess,” he shrugged. 

And he did.

  
  
Tommy and Marcus are clingy indeed. They love skin on skin contact in any way they can get it. In both human and wolf form. 

Tommy is now rubbing his head against Stiles’ neck and at the same time chews on a fuzzy plush wolf Peter got him. Peter. Stiles feels a hint of worry. “Have you seen your Papa?” he asks Tommy and the boy nods. “He is on the porch with Marcus.” 

The porch. Of course. It makes sense. Peter usually goes somewhere open on days like this, somewhere he won’t feel trapped. 

“Let’s go find them, huh?” Stiles says.  
  
Tommy nods. “Can I shift?” he asks, eyes wide and glowing golden.

“Sure. But remember, what do you have to do first?” 

“I take off my clothes and put them on my bed?” 

Stiles smiles and ruffles Tommy’s hair. “Exactly. Good. Go!”  
  
Tommy cheers and jumps off the bed, running out of the room at remarkable speed. He is always a bit faster than his brother in reminding the few rules they have in the house. 

Stiles sighs and gets up, stretching and reaching for some warmer clothes. It is almost autumn and outside it will be chilly. Other than the rest of his family, Stiles is not a walking heater. 

* * *

Peter is sitting on the bench on the porch, Marcus in his wolf form curled up on his lap.  
  
Stiles is always surprised that the twins still find a way to fit everywhere, because they are growing steadily, their legs getting longer and longer. They look almost like clumsy sheep with too long noses by now. When Stiles steps on the porch, Tommy runs past him with an excited yowl, making Marcus perk up and jump off Peter’s lap, running after his brother with a growl. 

Peter looks after them, his eyes suspiciously blank. He is lost in his own thoughts. Which rarely is a good thing. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, sitting beside Peter but keeping a bit of distance. 

Peter doesn’t say anything.  
  
Stiles waits for a moment. Sometimes, Peter starts talking by himself. Not today. So, he eventually asks, “Nightmares?” 

That earns him a curt nod. It’s way more than he got two years ago. Stiles thinks that his impression that the twins would be good for them was more than right. 

“I still hear them,” Peter says, almost inaudibly for Stiles. “I still hear them saying …” he stops and grits his jaw. 

“What are they saying?” Stiles probes gently. Peter doesn’t answer immediately, but that’s alright. Stiles is patient. They learned how to do this long ago. How to listen, to wait and to talk. 

“That I don’t deserve this,” Peter eventually says, closing his eyes briefly.

Stiles stomach clenches. It clenches even more when Peter adds, “I can’t stop thinking that the voices are right.” 

“But you know that it’s not true, right?” Stiles asks. “You do deserve this. We both do.” They have been through the reasons together more than once. 

Peter sighs. “I’m trying. I just … I don’t know. I dream about the children more often now. I see them playing in the garden just like these two and then … then I see them choking on smoke. I couldn’t save them.” Peter’s eyes fill with the echo of pain and Stiles hurts with him. He reaches out and gently puts his hand on Peter’s. “They were scared and in pain and I couldn’t help them. I was supposed to protect them. I couldn’t. And the dream doesn’t stop. I fail to save them a hundred times and I start to ask myself why I’m still here when they are gone.” 

Peter exhales shakily, glancing at the pups who are playing but sometimes look over to them with wide attentive eyes. “I’m useless,” he sighs. “I scare them with my misery. They can smell it. Feel it. I should rather go and return when I’m not … not so pathetic anymore.”  
  
“Stop,” Stiles says sharply. “You’re _not_ pathetic. No one comes out of a hell like that without a load of baggage. You suffered trauma and no one helped you to process it. Of course you have nightmares and thoughts like that. But you are not going to run away and deal with it alone. Because I am here now and I will always help you to carry that baggage. You help me with mine too. And the twins understand. Remember what they did when I had the panic attack? Or when there was that stupid wildfire and you were hiding in the bathroom? They came and were the sweetest cuddle-wolves ever. We are a family and we help each other dealing with heavy stuff. That’s what family does,” he ends, a bit exhausted after such a long speak - in the morning of all things.

Peter glances at him and smiles weakly. “Thank you, Stiles. My mind is stupid and repeats all its old mistakes when it’s like that, but your presence really helps. Thank you for your patience.” He takes Stiles’ hand and raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss on it. 

Stiles chuckles and feels warmer in an instant.

For a long moment, they just watch the twins. 

Tommy and Marcus are rolling around and wrestling, chewing on each other’s ears and growling viciously. 

“It is a good thing we have no neighbours,” Stiles mumbles and arches his brow. 

Peter chuckles. “You’re right. Because, what would they say, if they saw this?” he asks and shifts right in front of Stiles’ eyes. 

“Seriously!” Stiles huffs, staring at the torn clothes on the ground in disbelief, “You didn’t take off your clothes first! How am I supposed to make the kids do it, if not even you listen to me?!” 

Peter-wolf stares up at him, rolls his eyes - Stiles still can’t believe wolves can actually do that - and goes to join the twins, grabbing them by their scruff and throwing them around, growling amused when the cubs play-attack him with excited howls. Their bravery earns them paw slaps that throw them backwards.

Stiles winces although he knows exactly it doesn’t really hurt them. 

He leans back and shivers slightly in the early autumn breeze, watching his little family play with a mild smile on his face.

They really do deserve this.


End file.
